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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226430">We Could be the Best Thing Ever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodemornting/pseuds/goodemornting'>goodemornting</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Canada's Drag Race RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Airplanes, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Fluff, Lesbian AU, Mutual Pining, Songfic, meet cute, not rly it’s just inspired by one lol</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:47:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,887</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodemornting/pseuds/goodemornting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“When we land, if you have time, maybe I could buy you a coffee?”</i>
</p><p>Or: “I made a horrible impression in the airport and thought I’d never see you again but I just found out you’re in the seat next to me for the entire flight” AU</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kyne/Kiara Schatzi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>We Could be the Best Thing Ever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollalpaca/gifts">dollalpaca</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy songfic exchange Zyan! I kind of spoilt that I got you a while ago, but I hope this fic is still exciting! This is the fluffy airport au no one asked for, we needed kyara content and I’m here to deliver :)</p><p>The fic is inspired by Timebomb by Tove Lo. Ty to Emerald for betaing this so well!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kyne just wanted some goddamned coffee.</p><p>She’s been up for over 32 hours, and she can’t remember why the hell she decided that a 5am flight was a good idea. Probably had something to do with the cheaper booking and her already depleted savings, but she hadn’t even caught a nap before getting to the airport at ass o’clock in the morning.</p><p>She’d painfully said goodbye to her pot plants and kitchen utensils only to almost leave her wallet at home, her Uber driver had been weird as shit, and she got stopped at security because apparently her earrings warranted a frisk at 4 am. The officer that patted her down looked sketchy as hell too. Kyne didn’t trust anyone that worked at the airport at 4 in the morning. Except for the sleepy barista whose hands she put her <i>life</i> in at the blessed B-terminal coffeeshop. </p><p>Kyne just wanted some god. damned. coffee. But apparently some bad karma is coming for her ass, because she can’t even get a dose of caffeine without fucking up her already miserable morning.</p><p>Kyne barely has her hands wrapped around a vanilla hazelnut americano — mind already rousing from the sweet smell and the promise of a much-needed stimulant — when in a flash of curly hair and a leather jacket, she promptly bumps into someone and spills her (precious! life-saving!) coffee everywhere.</p><p>“Oh god,” Kyne hisses as the burning liquid sloshes over her hand. She reaches for the nearest counter and dumps her dangerous cup there, quickly wiping the hot coffee from her hands to the thighs of her jeans. “Watch where you’re fucking going,” Kyne snaps, whipping around with a scowl heavy on her lips—</p><p>And she finds the prettiest face looking back at her, chocolate eyes wide and lips open in a perfect O of surprise.</p><p>Kyne short-circuits.</p><p>“Sorry!” the pretty woman drawls, wringing her hands, “I needed an extra straw ‘cause the paper ones always fall apart, and I didn’t think you’d move so quickly. You seemed pretty sluggish before you got that cup in your hands.” she smiles  sheepishly, though it looks more cheeky than apologetic. “What’d you order, by the way? My leg is suffering, but it smells great.”</p><p>Kyne’s gaze sweeps down and sees a dark, wet patch blooming on the leg of the woman’s skirt.</p><p>“I spilt my coffee on you.”</p><p>She spilt her coffee on her. Kyne, you idiot. Kyne, you goddamn <i>fool</i>.</p><p>“Yeah, I noticed,” the woman laughs. She pulls napkins out of the dispenser one pathetically thin paper at a time, trying to get enough to sop up the mess. “Is it vanilla or something? Like I said, smells great.”</p><p>“Vanilla hazelnut,” Kyne replies numbly, reaching over to help gather some more napkins. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. Her deft fingers make short work of the dispenser, clutching a fistful of brown papers she doesn’t know what to do with. Is it socially unacceptable to dry a stranger’s upper thigh if she’s spilt coffee on it? Is it more or less acceptable when that stranger is gorgeous? </p><p>The woman saves her the trouble and takes the wad of napkins from her hand with another grin. “It’s cool,” she says, blotting at her leg. “Not literally, of course. It’s actually super hot, but I don’t think I’m burnt, so you’re off the hook. This is why I wear so much black. People normally wear it because it’s sliming or something, I wear it because if a cute stranger spills something on me it won’t matter. Wait, not a <i>cute</i> stranger. Not that you <i>aren’t</i> cute, because <i>duh</i>, but—“</p><p>Kyne blinks slowly at her. Her brain is having trouble processing the two thousand words the woman has said in the past seven seconds.  She offers a subdued nod, racking her brain for something to say. “It’s like Deadpool.” She says quietly, catching the woman’s attention. </p><p>“Deadpool?” The stranger tilts her head, huffing out a small laugh. “Like how he wears the red suit so his enemies can’t tell he’s bleeding, huh.”</p><p>Kyne momentarily falls into a coma, staring at the taller woman in shock. Not only was she cute, but she got movie references as well? This might be the best thing that’s ever happened to her.</p><p>Kyne is too busy buffering to respond, and the pretty stranger looks at her quizzically, a little worried. “Hey, uhm, are you okay? I don’t mean to be rude, but you’ve got, like, Prada eye bags. Are you going to survive without the third of your coffee you spilled? Should I buy you a new one?” She looks completely serious, and Kyne is conscious enough to find her sincerity adorable.</p><p>“I’m fine,” She assures her, trying to seem more lucid as she wipes down her coffee cup and re-fastens the lid. “You’re the one soaked with hot coffee, dummy. Should I, um, buy you a new skirt?”</p><p>The pretty stranger barks out a laugh. It’s warm and bubbly and way too fucking loud for 4am. Kyne should probably hate it, but she doesn’t. It’s like an alarm she wouldn’t mind waking up to. If she were more awake, she would have reeled at such a thought, but she’s too busy processing the pretty stranger’s speech.</p><p>“Nah, I don’t need a new skirt. I own a washing machine, so I should probably be okay. I’ll have my lawyer call if there’s any lasting damage,” the woman grins. Her smile is a beam of perfect white teeth and pink lips stretched into a cute heart-like shape. Kyne feels kind of blinded, but she tries not to squint out of politeness.</p><p>“Well then..” Kyne trails off. She blinks once, twice. “Well then. We’re good?”</p><p>The woman chuckles — the same laugh, but more honey thick and syrupy. Kyne appreciates how it’s easier on the ears. “Yeah, we’re good. See you later, coffee girl.” The pretty stranger snags her latte from the counter, waves cheerily, and ducks out of the coffeeshop.</p><p>Kyne stares after the woman but catches herself hastily. There were probably ten million other ways that conversation could’ve gone, most of them filled with harsh words and insults because of the <i>annoying ass woman that cut in line, who does she think she is, it wasn’t even Kyne’s fault she’d spilt the coffee—</i></p><p>But it hadn’t.</p><p>Kyne ran a hand through her hair to reorient herself. Airport cafe. 4:37 am, according to her phone. Definitely not smitten with a stranger she’ll never see again. Good. Okay.  Kyne takes a measured sip of her drink, letting the aftertaste settle sharp on her tongue for a moment before gulping it down. When it’s half gone, she pauses to breathe, screw her eyes shut, and huff out a sigh.</p><p>“Fuck.” she mutters, to no one in particular. Kyne wraps her hands around her cup (tightly, this time) and starts the trek to her terminal.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>After finishing her coffee (and a second shortly after the first), Kyne has boarded the plane and is successfully caffeinated out of her catatonic state. It’s a good thing too, because she still has a song to finish before she meets up with Priyanka in NYC. She’s sure her friend (work proximity associate, she calls her to her face, but Pri knows the truth) will love her progress. Her roommate Tynomi will probably praise her  too — and hopefully take her out to eat as a celebration.</p><p>If all goes according to plan, Kyne will finish her first real, <i>professional</i> song within the month. The thought almost energizes her more than coffee.</p><p>Her fingers are itching for her audio mixer, but she doesn’t bother pulling out her laptop before takeoff. She knows she’ll only be chided by the stewards to “stow all personal belongings under the seat in front of her or in the overhead bin” so she pulls out her cellphone, plugs in her headphones, and settles into her seat as she plays through her completed demos one by one.</p><p>The music is loud, and her focus is intent. In any other conditions, she probably wouldn’t have noticed the arrival of the person seated next to her. But the warm, sweet scent of a long-finished coffee has her head snapping up and mouth falling open.</p><p>“Oh wow, bonjour again, coffee girl.” The pretty stranger smiles as she shoves her purse into the overhead bin. She slips her tote-bag off her shoulders, scoots past Kyne to the empty window seat, and plops down next to her. Her skirt is still stained. Her smile is still gorgeous. She <i>still</i> smells like vanilla hazelnut coffee.</p><p>“Hi.” Kyne says dumbly, slipping off her headphones to rest around her neck. </p><p>“I know I said ‘see you later’, but I didn’t actually expect to see you again,” her new flight companion says.  “Good thing we’re seated next to each other, though. We have a lot to talk about. I decided I’m pressing charges about the whole incident earlier.”</p><p>“Oh, you should reconsider. I’m poor as hell,” Kyne deadpans. The woman looks surprised at the competent, fully conscious response, but recovers quickly.</p><p>“Nice try, girl. I’m a broke-ass college student. Still pressing charges. You not only ruined my skirt, but even my coffee,” she says, full bottom lip jutted out in a pout. Kyne tries not to look at her mouth. “After smelling your vanilla whatever, I knew my plain latte would suck. And now even my clothes smell like it. I can’t escape what almost was,” she sighs.</p><p>“At least you smell nice,” Kyne hums. She doesn’t mean for it to come out weird, but it does. She kind of wants to melt into her seat, but her flight buddy just takes it in stride.</p><p>“I smell like my <i>mistakes</i>, coffee girl,” the stranger says solemnly. “I’m suing your ass for this injustice.”</p><p>“Well,” Kyne starts, her mouth quirking in a half-smile, “See you in court.”</p><p>“Wow, I can’t believe you can actually smile!” The pretty stranger marvels, lawsuit forgotten. “I feel much better now that I know you’re capable of humor. Let’s be friends.” She grins and sticks out her hand. “Kiara Schatzi, senior at NYU Tisch School of Arts, dancer, model and bonafide Leo.”</p><p>Kyne blinks, then reaches out to shake her hand. Her fingers are long and warm and Kyne enjoys the three-second grip more than she should.</p><p>“Kyne Aguilar, genius,” she responds bluntly. “Those three words should be enough.”</p><p>Kiara bursts out laughing, gaining a couple sleepy glares from other passengers. “Come on, girl — <i>Kyne</i> — at least give me your star sign! Actually, wait,” Kiara pauses to squint at her. “Let me guess…Virgo?”</p><p>“Aries,” Kyne corrects her, and Kiara gasps.</p><p>“That doesn’t make any sense. You’re too—” she starts, then pauses again. Gives Kyne a once-over. Cocks her head. “Well, actually. Maybe that’s okay. We’ll see.”</p><p>“I didn’t ask to be born in April,” Kyne huffs. Kiara laughs again and elbows her affectionately, like she’s been friends with her for years. Like they hadn’t met an hour ago during a disaster of hot coffee and flimsy napkins. And when she smiles, it’s wide and genuine. Her pretty half-moon eyes crinkle at the edges. </p><p>That sunny smile scrambles up something in her chest, which is stupid, so fucking stupid. Maybe Kyne over-caffeinated and now she’s crazy. There’s no other explanation — not one she’d ever willingly accept anyways.</p><p>A honey-voiced stewardess comes on the intercom and tells the passengers to prepare for take-off. Kyne rubs her eyes, groans low in her throat, and tries to prepare herself for the rest of the flight.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Takeoff is uneventful — annoying at most. Kiara chews obnoxiously on some kind of gum — spearmint, Kyne thinks, which isn’t a weird thing to notice at all, fuck off. Kyne wishes she’d accepted Kiara’s offer of a stick because now her ears hurt like hell and she’s trying to inconspicuously yawn to pop them. She hopes Kiara won’t notice.</p><p>Luckily, the taller woman is plugged in and tuned out, absorbed in some fast-paced app game. Kyne glances over occasionally and watches her fingers fly over the screen, long and slender and impossibly fast. Kyne prioritizes nice hands, and Kiara’s are as pretty as her face. Unfortunately, Kyne is running from any and all gay thoughts to keep in-flight weirdness to a minimum. She flips through a magazine to will her gaze away from the other woman, mind buzzing. She pages through fashion advertisements while scowling at the painful pressure in her ears.</p><p>They finally pop when the plane reaches 10,000ft, a stewardess announcing it over the intercom. Kyne doesn’t need to listen to her soft-spoken spiel to know her new freedoms. She <i>scrambles</i> for her laptop, nearly breaking the zipper of her backpack as she snatches the computer out of the pocket. She flips it open, plugs in her headphones and stretches her hands, knuckles cracking in a satisfying way.</p><p>Then she gets to work.</p><p>She’s productive for a good half hour. She fixes the part of the bridge that bothered her, and she tweaks the bass of the hook until it’s perfect. She feels great, caffeine still thrumming in her blood. Kyne is just ready to tackle the final boss — the first verse that just doesn’t feel <i>right </i> — when she startles at the nudge of a sharp elbow.</p><p>“Hey,” Kiara’s voice comes, muffled sound through Kyne’s headphones. Kyne slips them off, tilting her head.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“What’re you working on?”</p><p>Kyne stares at her. Kiara has her head tipped back, blinking slowly like she's sleepy. Her phone rests in her lap, and the screen is dark. She’s twirling her earbuds around, nearly smacking Kyne’s screen with every rotation.</p><p>She looks bored. This girl pulled Kyne out of her work because she’s <i>bored</i>. It’s 5:38am, and Kiara is starting a conversation on the otherwise silent flight — everyone else has the common courtesy to keep quiet. Does this girl really go to school in New York City? The scrappy metropolis of <i>“mind your own damn business”</i> and <i>”don’t even think about making eye contact with me, asshole”?</i></p><p>Kyne digs deep and tries to find some hatred. Kiara looks at her with those sharp eyes, a little hooded from the angle of her head, and Kyne comes up painfully blank. She sighs.</p><p>“I’m working on my track,” she says shortly, looking back at her screen. Kiara leans over to look too.</p><p>“That’s cool. You make your own music?”</p><p>“Yep.” Nice, Kyne. Single word answers should drive her away.</p><p>“What genre?”</p><p><i>Goddamn it.</i> “Oh it’s, um, like a slower, ballad sort of love song,” Kyne says, and suddenly Kiara is grabbing her arm and squeezing.</p><p>“I love ballads!” The taller woman whisper-yells. Kyne is just glad she didn’t actually shout on the silent plane. “I’m a dancer actually. Jazz is my speciality, but I love everything.” Kiara’s face is glowing, eyes bright with excitement. “Have you released anything before? I totally wanna listen.”</p><p>“Not yet,” Kyne huffs out a giggle. She can perfectly picture Kiara as her groupie, screaming in the crowd at a concert, leaving all-caps comments on her YouTube channel. It makes her heart feel full.</p><p>Gay. God, she needs to pull it together.</p><p>“This is actually my first professional single,” Kyne clarifies, looking back at her screen and away from Kiara’s pretty face. “It’ll come out in the next month I think.”</p><p>“That’s so cool,” Kiara grins earnestly, “Do you have any finished songs?”</p><p>“Yeah, a few drafts,” Kyne says, reaching for her phone. She opens her demo playlist and hands the device to Kiara sheepishly. “You can listen if you want. But you better pay up when I officially release them.”</p><p>Kiara grimaces. “Broke college student, remember? Don’t get your hopes up.” She ignores Kyne’s glower and plugs in her earbuds, looking content with the new distraction.</p><p>Kyne rolls her eyes, puts on her own headphones, and focuses back on the screen. Shit, where was she? The verse has so many layers she gets lost sometimes. She searches for less than a minute — then Kiara is suddenly gesturing at her wildly. Kyne pulls off her headphones again, exasperated.</p><p>“<i>What</i>?”</p><p>“Your music is amazing,” Kiara says breathlessly.</p><p>“Oh.” Kyne’s annoyance quickly dissipates. “Oh. Thank you.”</p><p>“No, you don’t understand,” Kiara says gravely, taking both of Kyne’s hands in hers. “Your music. Is. <i>Amazing</i>.” She looks starstruck.</p><p>Kyne snorts, trying to ignore how her heart positively sings at the praise. “Thank you.” She drawls, rubbing the back of her neck, “I’m glad you like it.”</p><p>“Non, no, you still don’t get it,” Kiara huffs, gripping Kyne’s hands tighter. “You need to release this stuff right now. I’ll pay for the airplane wifi — yes, I will shell out real, actual currency, so please put this on the internet right fucking now. Do the world a favor.”</p><p>Kyne can’t help the laughter that bursts out of her. There are a couple of discontented, sleepy groans from around her, but she can’t stop the fit of mirth that shakes through her.</p><p>“Seriously, Kiki,” Her cheeks heat up a little saying the nickname, relief rushing through her when Kiara’s smile widens. “Thank you. I’ll get my single done really soon,” Kyne gives her a wide, beaming smile. Kiara smiles back at her, a little bashful, but then her eyes go wider, and her gaze shifts to something over Kyne’s shoulder.</p><p>“Ma’am,” a soft voice says, and Kyne turns toward it. A stewardess with too-red lipstick and too-blue eyeshadow is smiling down at her, a little forced. Kyne knows exactly what’s coming. “Ma’am, could you be a little quieter? Other passengers are trying to sleep.”</p><p>Kyne is glad she outgrew the last of her shame and dignity in the past couple years. She looks back at her evenly. “Yep, sorry.”</p><p>She nods to her, and that’s when Kyne notices the cart. She can see a coffee pot on the top rack, and her fingers twitch in some kind of awful Pavlovian response to the promise of more caffeine. The stewardess starts again, “Can I get you anything to drink? Water, juice, soda — maybe coffee?”</p><p>Kyne doesn’t even have to look to know there’s a shit-eating grin on Kiara’s face. Normally she’d gladly accept the caffeine, but she refuses to give Kiara the satisfaction. She can’t be ‘coffee girl’ forever.</p><p>“Just water,” she says curtly, and she hears Kiara snort. She turns to glare at her, and finds just the cheshire smile she expected. Smug and fucking <i>cute</i>. Goddamn it.</p><p>The stewardess places the cup on her tray. “And for you, ma’am?” she smiles at Kiara.</p><p>“Do you have apple juice?” She asks, and now Kyne is the one grinning, earning a discreet stomp on her foot.</p><p>“We do,” the stewardess says, already pouring. Kiara smiles gratefully when she hands her the cup. “Would you two like any snacks? Peanuts, pretzels, or cookies?”</p><p>“Cookies.” Kiara says instantly, and she hands her the packet.</p><p>“Oh, um, same for me,” Kyne says, distracted by the pure smile on Kiara’s face as she unwraps the biscuits. The stewardess sets an identical packet on her tray, then she’s rolling her cart to the next row of seats.</p><p>Kyne turns to Kiara, who already has both cookies stuffed in her mouth. She looks like a chipmunk. “So, <i>apple juice</i>? Are you five?”</p><p>Kiara looks at her, cheeks bulging and expression indignant. A hilarious combination. “It’s delicious,” she protests, spewing a few crumbs with her speech. She finishes chewing and swallows. “I’m closer to twenty-five than five.” She pauses, then smiles smugly. “If you saw some of the dances I do, you wouldn’t be comparing me to a kid,” </p><p>Kyne hates the way her mouth goes dry. Hates the way she can instantly imagine Kiara, hips gyrating, body fluid and lithe and hopefully partially bare.</p><p>Then Kiara is slurping at her apple juice and Kyne can’t imagine this girl is even in college.</p><p>“Cute,” Kyne whispers under her breath, without thinking. Kiara looks up from her juice.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I said <i>gross</i>,” Kyne says clearly. “Could you make any <i>more</i> noise when you drink? You sound like a horse.”</p><p>Kiara makes a face at her and sips extra loudly for effect. Kyne rolls her eyes. She pulls on her headphones to hide the red tips of her ears before Kiara can see.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Kiara starts watching some kind of romance movie on the in-flight entertainment system, so Kyne is deep in her first verse for over an hour. The bass is loud, so Kyne doesn’t hear the pilot come on the intercom, voice crackling with static as she announces a spot of turbulence.</p><p>She definitely feels the first drop though.</p><p>“Shit,” Kiara mutters, unplugging her headphones, “Merde, did we hit some turbulence or something?” She turns to Kyne.</p><p>Kyne, whose lips are pressed into a thin line, knuckles white as she grips the armrests. Kyne, who is absolutely fucking terrified.</p><p>“Hey, you okay?” Kiara frowns. Kyne doesn’t know how to answer that, letting out something akin to a whimper and watching as Kiara’s frown deepens. </p><p>“I’m, uh,” Kyne’s voice comes out several pitches higher than she’d like, words thin and tight. “I’m really scared of heights. And falling.” She flashes a painfully forced giggle. “Like, roller coasters scare the shit out of me, but at least the coaster is, like, on the ground.” The plane drops again, and <i>holy hell,</i> she lets out a loud yelp. “I’m not really a fan of falling while thousands of feet in the air,” Kyne squeaks.</p><p> </p><p>*** </p><p> </p><p>Kiara will admit — she’s no saint. When Juice screams during horror films, she splits her sides laughing. She might even sneakily set her laptop wallpaper as the monster from the movie, then crack up at Juice’s inevitable shrieks later. There’s a certain satisfaction in the fright of her friends.</p><p>So it’s weird that Kyne, a stranger who she met a little less than two hours ago, with her shaking hands and panicked breaths, makes something in her chest ache.</p><p>“Are you gonna be okay?” Kiara asks. She tries not to look too concerned, but her chest constricts when Kyne squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. Kiara’s good at reading people, and she can tell without a doubt that it’s taking all of Kyne’s willpower to open up to her, even the slightest bit. </p><p>Maybe she could ask a stewardess for some anti-anxiety flight medication. Or for a blanket and a cup of coffee, Kyne definitely seems to like those. Maybe Kiara could tell a joke or something, ramble about a dance or teach the shorter woman a French cuss word.</p><p>Then the plane dips again, Kyne whimpers, and Kiara instinctively reaches for her hand.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>When Kiara grabs her hand, it takes all of Kyne’s willpower to not yank it back, spouting some kind of “no homo” bullshit. She instead tests her grip on the taller woman’s hand, tightening and relaxing.</p><p>“Is this okay?” Kiara asks quietly. Kyne lets out a long, steady breath, biting her lip.</p><p>It <i>isn’t</i> okay, not one bit, because Kyne knows full well that relationships like these don’t last. Ignoring the somewhat homoerotic tension sparking between them the entire flight does not produce a healthy relationship by the end, and Kyne is well aware that this is not a dynamic that is going to be very stable for a while. But Kyne’s gaze gets caught, hook line and sinker, on Kiara, staring at her knees. The corner of her mouth is tugged up in a shy smile. Her curls, a little tangled from all the squirming she’s been doing, bouncing around with her every movement. </p><p>Kiara’s hands are warm and grounding, and even though she’s still morbidly terrified of the plane and the turbulence and whatever might be unfolding between them, Kyne can’t for the life of her bring herself to care.</p><p>“Yeah,” she finally says, wiggling her fingers a little until their grip is perfect. “This is good.”</p><p>Kiara nods, ducking her head and rustling around in her backpack to hide what Kyne suspects is a blush.</p><p>They hold hands for a while. With every drop and dip, Kyne absentmindedly tightens her grasp on Kiara’s hand, and Kiara lets her. Sometimes squeezes back comfortingly, Kyne relaxing instantly in the moment of warm pressure. She’s sure she hasn’t held hands with someone since her last fleeting relationship years ago.</p><p>It’s nice.</p><p>Eventually the pilot’s voice crackles back on the intercom, declaring the end of the rough patch of air. Kyne gives Kiara a grateful smile and untwines her hand, wiping her clammy palm on her pants a little self-consciously. Kiara giggles, waving the hand Kyne had been holding at her like a greeting. <i>Fucking cute.</i> Kyne shrugs like it’s no big deal (and it isn’t a big deal, she tries to convince herself), and focuses back on her verse, catching her breath. She’s made very little progress thanks to a warm hand and some flushed cheeks.</p><p>“Thanks,” She whispers softly, not daring to meet Kiara’s gaze. </p><p>Kiara glances over, opening her mouth silently as though she can’t quite work out what to say. </p><p>“No problem.”</p><p>It’s actually a <i>huge problem</i>. Kyne can’t stop thinking about the softness of Kiara’s curls, how glossy and full her lips are, her hands fisted in the pockets of her leather jacket.</p><p>Kyne tilts her head back against the seat and sighs, squirming in her chair to get rid of the feeling of fondness she’s currently drowning in. She <i>cannot</i> fall in love with a stranger, that’s a disaster waiting to happen. </p><p>It might be too late now, though.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Kyne pulls off her headphones after finishing the verse, throwing herself back into her seat with a satisfied <i>hmph</i>. She knows she'll probably reverse her changes tomorrow, but she feels happy with it for now. She stretches, letting out a small groan as her muscles untense, and Kiara glances over at her with a little smile.</p><p>“Hey,” Kiara nods toward the window, “The sun is coming up, if you wanna see.”</p><p>Kyne leans forward to look, and she sees a glow of orange starting on the horizon of endless clouds. She sits back again and lets Kiara fill the window as she watches the sky. The window gradually brightens around her; faint orange melts to a bright gold that cascades into blue, but Kyne isn’t really looking at that. She’s watching the color wash over Kiara’s edges, lighting up her silhouette in the small square. Her curls are tousled and the outside strands turn yellow in the light. Her blush has faded by now, but the warm light colors her ears the same adorable shade of pink. When Kiara moves just right, Kyne catches the cute slope of her nose, the sharp curve of her cheek, the flutter of her eyelashes.</p><p>And when Kyne moves, settling her chin in her palm, Kiara catches her staring.</p><p>“Sorry,” Kiara says, surprised to find Kyne’s soft gaze at her back. “Were you trying to watch the sunrise? I can move out of the way.”</p><p>The words come out before Kyne really thinks them over.</p><p>“That isn’t what I was looking at.”</p><p>Kiara’s mouth parts a little. Not quite surprised, but a little stunned. “Oh.”</p><p>A loud crackle of static saves Kyne from wishing for death and Kiara from asking questions. The pilot briefly announces their descent, and a stewardess follows him up with instructions on stowing their belongings and fastening their seatbelts. Kyne silently slips her laptop back in her bag, then buckles back in. She doesn’t look at Kiara. Can’t look at Kiara. Not after dropping the gayest seven words she’s said in years — to a near-<i>stranger</i> even.</p><p>Kyne curses under her breath. She wishes Kiara felt more like the near-stranger she is. Maybe then she wouldn’t have fucking embarrassed herself.</p><p>“Hey,” Kiara inevitably starts, and it takes all of Kyne’s self-control not to groan. She’s so fucked. “Kyne,” Her name sounds soft and perfect in Kiara’s mouth, accent hitting the syllables just right. Kyne hates it.</p><p>Goddamn it, she <i>loves</i> it.</p><p>“Yes?” Kyne hums idly, thumbing through her phone to avoid looking up.</p><p>“When we land — if you have time — maybe I could buy you a coffee?”</p><p>Kyne whips her head up. Kiara’s smirk is as candid and as fucking cute as ever.</p><p>“<i>Huh</i>?”</p><p>“We should go for coffee. I know you know what it is — seems like you practically live on it,” Kiara laughs. “Maybe I can buy you one? You didn’t sleep on the flight at all, which is mostly my fault for bothering you. So? You up for it?”</p><p>Kyne had already set breakfast plans with Priyanka for the moment she arrived back in NYC. Tynomi had nagged her on getting home as soon as possible so she has time to unpack before running errands for the week. And her body is practically <i>crying</i> for some much-needed sleep.</p><p>“Sure,” Kyne shrugs, “I have time to grab a coffee.”</p><p>Kiara beams. “As long as you promise not to spill it on me this time.”</p><p>Kyne snorts. “I promise. What’s the worst that could happen?”</p><p>And maybe Kyne was right, this probably wasn’t gonna go well. But it had potential, and if Kiara’s bright eyes and pouty lips were anything to go by, this might be the best thing ever.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please leave kudos and/or a comment if you enjoyed! Ty for reading :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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